Promised to the Swedish Prince - Sasha Cottman Page 0,54

he was going to remain in London, he was going to need long-standing relationships that he could trust. “Thank you. Now I think it is time for me to take my leave. I have a fiancée to go home to.”

“Good luck, Christian. And for heaven’s sake, do hurry up and set a date for your nuptials. London society loves nothing more than a grand wedding.”

Christian left the Lynches’ house soon after in somewhat of a hurry. Slipping his arms into his coat, he didn’t bother to hail a hack. As he turned the corner into North Audley Street, he broke into a trot. By the time he reached the crossing at Oxford Street, he was in a full run.

Racing across the street, he was forced to leap out of the way in order to avoid being run over by an oncoming carriage. Heart pounding and legs burning, he pushed on. Out the front of number four Duke Street, he skittered to a halt before bounding up the front steps.

Inside the small foyer, he bent and rested his hands on his knees, sucking in a great lungful of air. Pulling a clean handkerchief from out of his coat pocket, he wiped his sweaty brow.

“Right. Now to get this sorted,” he muttered.

Upstairs, he passed Count Jansson’s study. The door was closed, but from the sound of metal balls connecting with each other, it was clear Magnus was practicing his boules. There was a thud, followed by low swearing.

He sighed. The housekeeper would be none too pleased when she came to be cleaning the skirting boards again in the morning. The boules tended to leave difficult marks.

Christian hurried on to the sitting room. He poked his head inside, then left. “Where the devil is, she? Erika, please don’t have already gone to bed.”

At the door to the library, he stopped. Seated on the floor, with several piles of letters in front of her, was Erika.

“Oh, thank god. I was beginning to worry,” he said.

She gave him the briefest of glances, then went back to reading the paper she held in her hand. Christian bent and picked up another letter. As soon as he turned it over, he knew who had sent it. Gustav’s personal stamp was on the wax seal.

The unbroken seal.

“What are these?” he asked.

“Your brother’s letters. I didn’t bother to open them after he sent the first few.”

He frowned. Why is she reading them now?

She rummaged through the pile and handed him a letter. “This was the first one he sent me.”

Christian began to read.

Countess Erika Jansson,

It is often thought that a goodly wife is more advantageous to a man than one blessed with a fair appearance. I happen to agree with this sentiment.

Christian’s gaze lifted from the paper and to Erika. She was holding a second letter out toward him.

“This was the next one he sent me. I got as far as the third page then stopped reading. After that I just used to bring them in here and throw them in the box without bothering to open them,” she said.

He started reading this next letter.

The correct method of treating a tendon injury in a horse is to rest the animal. Check regularly to see if the inflammation has lessened.

Erika gathered her skirts and got to her feet. After picking up the letters, she placed them on the small table which sat at the far end of the low leather couch. The library was like most other rooms in the house—small—but it was cozy rather than cramped.

She took the letter from Christian’s hand and flicked it toward the box. It missed.

“I will pick it up and read it tomorrow,” she said.

Stepping past him, she made it most of the way to the door before turning back. “Congratulations on the trade agreement. That is a major achievement. Pappa is beside himself with joy.”

Christian couldn’t fail to notice the lack of warmth in Erika’s voice. The flatness of it tore at him. At this very minute, he didn’t give a damn about the bloody trade agreement. He had to know more about the letters. “Why are you reading Gustav’s missives? If you didn’t care for what was in them before, why bother now?”

“Because I am to sail back to Sweden next week and inform King Charles of your success with the trade agreement. It doesn’t matter that you and I were betrothed. Pappa says Gustav and I still have a duty to wed. Which means that Gustav will expect me to have